Curved Like an Arrow
by RosieShiba
Summary: Sequel to It's Not What You Think. After the Mustangs leave Amestres there's still some unfinished business to be resolved and Havoc and Churchill are the ones to deal with it. HavocxOC. May be M later.
1. Prologue

**So I've been getting round to posting this for… a very long time and now I'm actually doing it. Not bad, eh? This is the sequel to my other fic: It's Not What You Think, but it can stand alone. I hope you enjoy :) This fic is unusually rated M for later content. It's a lot darker than It's Not What You Think but there will be other warnings coming.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.**

**Prologue**

"So…" Mustang said to his subordinates on the train platform. His wife and son were looking at the two soldiers, the boy's eyes red with tears. His mother was her usual strong self, no emotion showing on her face.

"I guess this is goodbye then, chief," said one of the officers, a man with blondish hair. The officer reached forwards to take Mustang's hand and shake it. Mustang gave him a sincere smile before turning to the other officer, a woman with brown hair. She was smiling at Mustang's son, Kit, in an effort to cheer him up. Suddenly the boy pounced on the female officer, wrapping his arms round her knees. She pried him off and sunk to his level so that she could give him a tight hug.

Mustang turned to his wife and offered her a comforting smile. She stepped forwards and gave the male officer a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear. The officer grinned goofily.

"Any time, Hawkeye," the officer replied.

"Make sure you get there safely," the female officer ordered. Mustang nodded. The female officer let go of Kit and stood up so that she could give Mrs Mustang a hug. "I'll miss you, not Mustang but you and Kit."

"Geez, thanks," Mustang moaned rubbing his head.

"You know she doesn't mean it," the other officer said. Mustang looked at him and sighed.

"Yeah, I guess," Mustang replied. Mrs Mustang and the female officer parted. They bid their farewells before Mrs Mustang picked up her son and walked back to her husband's side.

"Tell the others we got off safe," Mustang told his subordinates. The officers gave a snappy salute.

"Sir," they said in unison. Mustang smiled at them once again.

"And for God's sake, keep yourselves out of trouble," he added.

"Well with you in Xing we definitely will do," the female officer snapped causing Mrs Mustang to laugh.

"She has a point there, Roy," Mrs Mustang said. Mustang nodded, defeated for the last time by his wittier subordinate.

"Well," Mustang said.

"Good bye you two," Mrs Mustang said. She turned to her son in her arms. "Say goodbye to Uncle Jean and Auntie George, Kit."

"Bye bye Auntie Geowge. Bye bye Uncle Ean," Kit said sadly. He waved half heartedly at the two officers who waved back, big smiles on their faces. Mustang rolled his eyes before following his wife onto the train. He hung back for a second.

"Oh, yeah," he said. His wife looked back at him as a twisted smile made its way onto his face, "Tell Fullmetal I said 'Seeya Shrimp'."

"OK," the female officer said, unimpressed with the request, half knowing the reaction of the young alchemist in question. Mustang gave them both a salute which they returned before he disappeared into the train. After a few minutes it started to roll out of the station, its horn blowing loudly.

"There they go," the male officer said. His companion nodded.

"You tell Fullmetal," she retorted. She turned on her heel and walked towards the train station. He lingered for a moment then followed her. They walked in silence for a while until he began to chuckle to himself. She glanced at him.

"What's the matter?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

"You know the boss is going to go to Xing just to tell Mustang to shove it up his ass," he replied. She smiled and laughed too.

"Should we get him the tickets now?" she asked. He slung his arm round her shoulder and they walked, laughing like maniacs, out of the station knowing full well that when they stopped laughing the tears would start to pour.

**So this is just the prologue, the other chapters will be coming soon. I hope you enjoyed! Read and review!**

**RSx**


	2. Chapter One

**So I have no idea if people are reading this but I don't really care :P I will be updating this fic every Wednesday so please read.**

**Disclaimer: Me no own FMA**

**Chapter One**

Jean Havoc was a normal guy in every single way. He worked all day for a bunch of ungrateful bureaucrats. He went out with his closest friends on a Friday night and drank a few pints of beer. He was a bachelor who wasn't given enough time to go and meet girls. He would work out to keep himself in perfect shape, after all he needed to be in good shape to get on with his job.

Jean Havoc was a First Lieutenant in the Amestres Military. He was a hard working soldier who worked directly under Fuhrer with several other people in the office. He used to work for a Colonel a few months back, a Colonel by the name of Roy Mustang. Roy Mustang, otherwise known as the Flame Alchemist, had been exiled to Xing with his family after the old Government fell. Havoc and the rest of Mustang's team had been separated into different departments, apart from two.

On a particularly grim looking Thursday, Havoc was stood by the window of the office looking out over the parade grounds. It was raining heavily and the sky was almost black. Havoc smirked remembering his previous boss's hatred of rain. As he stood looking down he failed to notice the door creaking open and a slender young woman enter the office. She closed the door behind herself and walked over to a desk she resided at for most of the day. She glanced up at Havoc before sitting on her chair. Havoc jumped slightly when he turned back into the office.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her usually brisk tone was soft like it was almost full of concern. Havoc rubbed his head.

"Yeah," he replied, "I was just thinking how much Mustang would've complained on a day like this."

"Complain?" she asked sharply, "You try getting him out doors in weather like this."

Havoc chuckled before waltzing over to his own desk, the one beside hers, and sitting down quietly. He looked at her. Her hazel eyes had turned to some blue prints that laid on her table. Her usually obedient brown hair was in a strangely untidy bun, like she didn't have the time to do it properly. She was wearing the military uniform like Havoc did, but where he wore trousers she wore a knee length skirt. She glanced up at him and sighed loudly.

"Get out of your nostalgic mood already," she snapped. Havoc half heartedly turned to the paper work on his desk and slowly began to read. He wasn't paying much attention to the words on the paper. His attention soon slipped back to the woman beside him. She was looking back at her blueprints pointing things out and jotting down notes on a blank pad of paper.

He'd known her for three years almost now. The young woman was a deadly force when she was in a mood and recently, probably due to the arrival of hundreds of Briggs soldiers, she was always on the edge. Her name was George Churchill, a Captain and the day to day bodyguard of the Fuhrer. She had originally come from the Briggs. Since her arrival in Central all those years ago both Havoc and Churchill had become friends, more so than the other guys. She was his best friend, without hesitation he would say she was. She was a woman who was hard to understand, who walked the fine line between masculine and feminine with perfect balance. In some way Havoc had been relieved when he'd found out that Churchill was assigned to the same office as him. At least he knew he wasn't with a gang of Briggs strangers.

"Havoc," she growled. Havoc blinked several times before turning his eyes back onto his papers. Today wasn't a good day to work. Somewhere in the distance there was a rumble of thunder. Churchill looked up and then looked at her watch.

A few seconds later another woman came running into the room, her expression absolutely terrified. Her short hair was messed up in a way that gave the impression she had ran very quickly towards the office. Her name was Ruth Montgomery, a 2nd Lieutenant who was specially trained in the Secret Ops back in Ishval. She sighed once she was in the room. Havoc didn't look up at her because to be honest, Montgomery scared the hell out of him.

Instead it was Churchill that asked: "What's wrong, Monty?"

"Thunder," Montgomery replied as she rubbed her head. Churchill glanced at Havoc who returned her unimpressed expression. He went back to work the moment Churchill's eyes left him.

Montgomery stood up straight and walked to her desk which was opposite Havoc's. She looked at him weirdly for a second or two before seating herself neatly on her chair. She cleared her throat as she opened a log book. Churchill shot her a glance, annoyed by the cough. Montgomery, however, did not notice the look because she was looking intently at Havoc. Churchill also looked at Havoc who was soundly working by now.

Havoc was unnerved that both women were looking at him but he neglected to show it. If he looked up at Churchill then Montgomery would kick off a fuss and if he looked up at Montgomery then she'd attempt to flirt with him. Churchill had already advised him not to even give her a chance at flirting with him. As Churchill had said once: "She's been through every man and a few women at Briggs. To cut it short, you have no idea where she's been."

Havoc managed to restrain from looking up until the door swung open noisily accompanied by another rumble of thunder. The man stood at the door was a tall, burley man with a mohawk and long braid and a long moustache. His right arm was automail. Montgomery went straight to work and Havoc kept his eyes cast down at his papers. It was only Churchill that rose from her chair and saluted calmly.

"Vee," the new comer said in his gruff voice.

"Colonel," Churchill replied, acknowledging her nickname with a nod. Havoc sneaked a glance at the Colonel as he walked to his own desk, one near to the window. This was Havoc's unit leader: Colonel Buccaneer. Churchill was the only one in the office that didn't seem to be intimidated by the man but this was mostly due to her brother's and her escapades in the North. Both Churchills, Vee and Bulldog, were favourites of Colonel Buccaneer and he would only call him by their nicknames. Everyone called Churchill's brother Bulldog but only the Colonel got away with calling her Vee.

"Looks like a down pour," the Colonel said as he looked at the scene behind him. Water was pouring down the outside of the window.

"Yes, sir," Montgomery murmured when no body else answered. The Colonel turned back into the room to see Churchill working on the blue prints and Havoc and Montgomery working on their respective paper work. The Colonel sighed loudly, somewhat out of character.

"When it rains like this, I can't help but feel a little under the weather myself," he said. Churchill looked up and smirked.

"Is that so, sir?" she asked. Buccaneer nodded grimly. "It's easy to feel a little grim in weather like this, sir, especially when the water is running down the window like it is. It feels like you're drowning, sir."

"Do you think?" Buccaneer asked, interested in this point of view. Even Havoc and Montgomery looked interested at her opinion.

"Yes, sir," Churchill replied, "And it also feels like the tears will never end."

"Are you sad, Vee?" Buccaneer asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Why of course I am," Churchill retorted, "For having such a sop for a commanding officer."

Buccaneer laughed loudly at her.

"You haven't changed, Vee," was all he said.

Grinning slightly, Churchill returned to work, knowing full well that the Colonel would bring up another topic in a few minutes time.

**Please remember to be nice and review or favourite or something. Until next week!**

**RSx**


	3. Chapter Two

**Here's another chapter :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA**

**Chapter Two**

In retrospect, Havoc would always think of what a fool he was to shun Churchill in her first few months in Central. She was dead handy whenever they went drinking. The bars in Central were usually taken over by Briggs soldiers who would love to start a bar fight with a small group of 'Centralites' if given half a chance. Since Churchill knew quite a lot of these troublemakers, she had been the chief troublemaker during her time in the North, she knew how to handle their drunken ramblings and their tall tales. She also knew how to throw a punch or five, in one case a few months back she broke a guy's collar bone with the niftiest punch Havoc had ever seen.

It was a Friday night and the old team of Mustang's would often crowd into a bar that was ran by a 'Madame Christmas'. They had been going there for months now since the landlady seemed to have developed an interest in Churchill. They would sit round the bar area while they chatted about their new jobs and laughed about things they'd done the last time they had gone out. They would usually be in uniform unless they went out for a bite to eat beforehand. On this Friday they were wearing their uniforms apart from Vato Falman who had been on an undercover mission during the day. The term was vaguely applied since Falman had spent most of the day in bed with a bad migraine.

The guys would normally show up together, laughing at something goofy that Havoc had done. By the time they were at their bar stools Havoc would be arguing with Heymans Breda about something, normally a girl, while Falman would be egging the argument on and poor Kain Fuery would be trying to stop the fighting.

Madame Christmas was talking to Churchill when the guys arrived. The guys stopped their usual arguing to look at Churchill who had changed from her uniform and was wearing her civilian clothing: a white blouse and a navy skirt with high heels. The men looked at each other cautiously before walking to their bar stools, Havoc, Breda and Falman fighting to sit beside Churchill and Fuery gently making his way to sit next to Havoc. Churchill was laughing with Christmas far too much to notice the pushing and shoving of her friends. She only looked at them when she heard Havoc yelp in pain because Breda was biting his calf.

"There you lot are," she said, smiling, "I was beginning to wonder which alley the Briggs soldiers had stashed you in."

"It's Havoc's fault," Breda and Falman said in unison. Havoc's mouth fell open as once again the blame was put on him.

"Breda, get off the damn floor," Churchill snapped.

"Yes, ma'am," Breda said quickly, taking a seat next to Falman.

"So what's with the clothes?" Havoc asked as he took up a seat on Churchill's right. Churchill looked down at her attire.

"Oh, this?" she asked, pulling at her blouse, "I got all sweaty in drills earlier."

"Sweaty?" Breda asked.

"Yeah, it was so bad I had to take a nice hot shower to wash my self down," she said, gazing off into the distance. The guys gazed off too, each with their own little fantasy. Madame Christmas put a few notes on the counter in front of Churchill. Churchill took the notes without another thought.

"Told you I could make them do that," she said simply to Christmas, "Just don't make them stand up for a while."

Havoc was the first to snap back to earth: "You did that on purpose?"

"Yeah, why else?" Churchill asked.

"Point taken," Havoc said with a sigh, "A bourbon on the rocks please, Madame."

"Coming up," Christmas said walking towards the glasses a little further down the bar. Havoc rested his chin on his hand, looking at the guys as they still sat with dazed expressions on their faces. Churchill lifted a small half filled glass to her lips but she paused reading the expression on Havoc face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I think you over did," Havoc replied. Churchill smirked.

"Sorry," she said with a shrug, "Why aren't you still looking like a perv? Don't you find me sexy?"

"Very," Havoc replied without a thought. Churchill laughed lightly before taking a sip from the glass and placing it on the counter in front of her. Christmas returned holding a similar glass for Havoc, filled with the same brown liquid that was in Churchill's glass. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes until they heard the door bang shut. Everyone's head, including the guys', snapped in the direction the noise. Churchill picked up her glass and sipped the liquid as she watched a gang of Briggs soldiers walk across the bar to a table.

"Here comes trouble," Breda muttered.

"The Glacier Crew," Falman said. Churchill was the first to take her eyes off the new comers. She turned to Christmas.

"So you were saying, Madame?" Churchill said. Christmas growled and walked towards the end of the bar towards an arched doorway with a curtain drawn.

The newcomers were comprised of six muscular men, all wearing the military uniform. Their leader was a Major, none other than Major Churchill aka Bulldog. He was watching the guys round the bar very carefully, especially since he noticed his younger sister in civilian clothing. Since when was his sister so feminine looking? He watched as the guy sat on her right. He was sat with his hand on the back of her chair, laughing at something that a fat guy was saying. His sister was laughing too.

"Hey, Bulldog," said one of Major Churchill's friends named Sinclair. Sinclair was tall with long black hair in a ponytail. Bulldog glanced at Sinclair. "Something wrong, boss?"

"Nothing," Bulldog replied, his tone unconvinced. Sinclair looked over Bulldog's shoulder to the woman at the bar.

"She's nice," Sinclair remarked, "You know her?"

"Yeah," Bulldog replied with a long sigh, "She's my sister."

"George?" asked another one of Bulldog's gang, called Sheridan. Bulldog nodded.

"And who's the moron sat next to her?" Sinclair asked.

"Probably some Centralite that thinks she's some push over," muttered Sheridan. Bulldog shrugged.

"Anya can look after herself," Bulldog said. Sinclair was unconvinced. He continued to watch the people round the bar.

Breda was gulping a beer as Falman told them a story about a few of the old Central soldiers being sent to the Western Headquarters. Havoc and Fuery were sat listening carefully but Churchill didn't have any interest in the conversation. She was more concerned by the dirt in her fingernails and how it didn't flatter the clothes she was wearing. As she sat picking the dirt from her nails she failed to notice the dark haired man walk across the room to the bar. If she had looked up then she would've seen that it was Sinclair. Sinclair looked at her, interested in her appearance out of uniform.

"I'm not quite sure about that," Havoc said, "I mean if there's going to be some action between Creta and Amestres then the Fuhrer wouldn't post Central soldiers there. What do you think George?"

"Hmm?" Churchill said looking up at Havoc, "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

"Figures," Breda chuckled. Churchill looked confused for a second before she put her chin in her hands.

"I want to go to war with Xing," she said finally. The guys fell silent immediately.

"That's a war I'd happily sign up for," Breda said, "Just so I could go AWOL."

"Me too," Fuery agreed. Havoc watched Churchill's face fall slightly.

"Guess what," Havoc said loudly. Churchill looked at him as did the rest of his friends. It was a little too bad that he had no idea what to say. He paused for a minute with his mouth wide open. Churchill turned to Breda and Falman.

"There's a few spare tickets for the Summer ball," Churchill said.

"And do you have some one to go with, Havoc?" Breda asked with a smirk.

"Wha? Me? Not yet," Havoc admitted, "But I'm half way through getting the courage to ask someone."

"Haha, Havoc," Breda laughed, "By the time you get the confidence to ask some one the ball would've been and gone."

"Yeah, Havoc, you do take your time asking for dates," Falman agreed. Churchill's eyes slipped onto Fuery who was at the other side of Havoc. She noticed his face fall slightly at the current topic.

"Well, I'll show you," Havoc snapped.

"What you going to do about it?" Breda asked with a loud laugh. Havoc smirked, an evil glint in his eyes.

"Hey George," Havoc said. Churchill's eyes flashed towards Havoc.

"What?" she asked, her tone meant to be sharp and brisk but it came out rather soft.

"You wanna go to the summer ball with me?" Havoc asked. She continued to look at him for a few more seconds. Breda's jaw dropped. Falman slipped from his chair. Fuery let out an almost inaudible whimper.

"You're not asking me to get back at these clowns are you?" Churchill asked, pointing over her shoulder at Breda and Falman with her thumb.

"Do you think I'd be that stupid?" Havoc laughed, "I've been meaning to ask you but every time I was about to Montgomery popped up outta the blue."

Churchill's eyes narrowed, scrutinising Havoc's face.

"What are you going to do with your tickets?" she said finally.

"I guess I'll give them to one of these," Havoc replied airily, "Most likely Fuery cos he's not as mean as them two."

"Then OK," she replied like it was nothing. She picked up her glass and sipped from it. "I'll probably be on duty though so it won't be a fun night."

"At least you'll have back up then," Havoc said. Churchill turned to smile at him but her attention slipped onto Sinclair.

"Go listen to someone else's conversations," she snapped at Sinclair. Sinclair turned and walked back over to Bulldog. Churchill turned to watch where he'd walked over to. "Excuse me."

She slid off of her bar stool and walked over towards her brother's table. Breda took the opportunity to shoot a glare at Havoc.

"Nice going, Havoc," Breda snapped, "You're going to upset her and we're going to be one friend down."

"Yes, your history with women isn't exactly perfect," Falman agreed. Havoc scowled.

"You guys always bring me down," Havoc moaned, "That's why Fuery is getting my tickets. If either of you want to go then you both have to find dates who have tickets."

"Then we're sure to get dates then Havoc," Breda snapped, "To stop you messing things up with Churchill."

"Get off of me, Assface," Churchill's voice chorused through the bar, making the level of conversation dip a little. Breda and Falman turned instinctively to see Bulldog and Sinclair holding Churchill down on a chair. She was wriggling like crazy trying to get out of their grasp. Breda made to stand up but Havoc stopped him.

"Everything's alright," Havoc reassured them, "One of them is her brother. Apart from embarrassing her he's not going to do much harm. Beware the language though."

As if by magic there was a stream of loud expletives coming from Churchill's mouth as her brother grappled her to her chair. Some were in Amestrish, the majority in Drachmarian. Most of the bar continued like normal until…

"Vash imperatritsy, shlyuha!"

The bar went deadly silent, most of the being from Briggs understood what she had just said. Even Bulldog seemed a little shocked and let go of her immediately. Her rubbed her shoulders and then looked confused.

"I wasn't expecting that to get that reaction," she murmured, "In Xing that's only mild."

"What did you say?" Havoc asked.

"Does it matter," George replied.

"What did you call the Fuhrer?" asked Sheridan, standing up so fast his chair fell backwards. George exchanged a worried look with her brother before nodding.

"My mistake," she admitted, "But like I said, it's a Xingese insult, a mild Xingese insult."

Sheridan reached for his pocket and pulled out a folded up pocket knife. He flipped it so the blade was now showing. Madame Christmas straightened up.

"No knives in this bar!" she barked but Sheridan ignored her and thrust the knife towards Churchill's throat, stopping a few millimetres away from her skin. Churchill seemed unthreatened by the knife or its wielder but Breda and the others carefully slipped off their stools to prepare to help her out. Havoc braced himself on the bar but decided against making a move towards the situation knowing full well that over crowding would lead to blood shed.

"Take it back," Sheridan threatened.

"What are you, five?" Churchill asked. Sheridan pushed the knife onto her skin but didn't apply enough pressure to draw blood.

"I said, take it back," Sheridan growled.

"And I say take this," Churchill retorted. She kicked Sheridan under the table in a well positioned place that made his eyes water and drop the knife so he could clutch his groin. Bulldog looked mightily impressed that his sister was able to get rid of the threat in front of her but as the two siblings exchanged looks another one of Bulldog's gang decided to take revenge over his fallen comrade. Churchill fell to the floor as the punch struck her. It was then that the whole bar went crazy.

"And then you come into this office and waste my time!" Fuhrer Olivier Mira Armstrong roared at eight soldiers. Fuery looked like he was going to crap himself but he wasn't the only one.

"But Fuhrer," said one of the other soldiers, "You ordered us to come here."

"QUIET!" the blonde woman roared making everyone in her office and the surrounding rooms jump. "I have three officers in the hospital, Madame Christmas breathing down my neck about something or another and then I have to think of how to get shut of the remaining eight dumb asses that caused the problem!"

Behind her chair Colonel Buccaneer sniggered at the eight soldiers. They were stood in a line, most shaking apart from a few in the middle of the line. There was also a clear divide between the Briggs soldiers and the Central soldiers. On the left stood Fuery, Breda, Havoc and Churchill while on the other side was Major Churchill, stood shoulder to shoulder with his younger sister, Sinclair, Weston and Newark. Only the middle four seemed able to control their shivering, and Buccaneer doubted that the two Churchills were shivering at all.

"SO!" the Fuhrer boomed, "Can some one tell me what the hell happened!"

There was complete silence apart from the chattering of teeth as the shaking continued. Suddenly, and almost expectedly, Captain Churchill stood forward, her head raised good and proud. The Fuhrer regarded her for a second or two before the loathing scowl set in.

"I believe, ma'am, that the whole incident was my fault," Churchill said, totally unafraid. Buccaneer had to hand it to the young Captain, she had balls, figuratively speaking.

"And why is that?" the Fuhrer barked. There was a moment's pause then Churchill raised her hand over her eyes and tucked the other under her elbow.

"I'm sorry," she said, instantly turning on the water works, "I was feeling so down lately."

"And why is that?" the Fuhrer snapped. This time Major Churchill stepped forward, his head hung low.

"Our dog, Betsy died," the Major replied solemnly. Now the other Churchill burst into tears. The other six soldiers glared at the two Churchills with their mouths' wide open.

"She was the greatest dog! Truly man's best friend!" the younger Churchill blubbered. Her brother put a comforting hand on her shoulder and put the other over his own eyes. "I remember how she used to come with us when we had picnic and she used to steal the ham."

"There, there," the older comforted. The Fuhrer rubbed her temples, trying to ignore the Captain's noisy weeping.

"Fine," the blonde snapped, "Get out of my sight, ALL OF YOU!"

Seven out of the eight saluted apart from the younger Churchill who was still sobbing. Havoc put a comforting arm around Churchill's shoulders and walked her out of the room, following the others but the Fuhrer stood up behind her desk quickly.

"Churchill," she snapped. The captain turned her head enough to look her superior in the eye. "That's got to be the lamest excuse ever!"

"You didn't buy it?" Churchill asked instantly snapping out of her tears and straightening up.

"OUT!" the Fuhrer roared. Churchill didn't need telling twice.


End file.
